


Pick Up the Pieces, Try Again

by MaybeMayura



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Can't Cook, Angst, Eggs, Eggs everywhere, Fluff, adrienette - Freeform, contrasts, depression tw, fluffy bakery scenes, gabenath, gabriel x nathalie - Freeform, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeMayura/pseuds/MaybeMayura
Summary: One-shot, happens in parallel with and around the events of "The Great Escape".It's a lovely, quiet, rainy day in Paris…until Marinette finds out Adrien can’t tell one kitchen utensil from the other. During their impromptu baking lesson, Adrien struggles to figure out how to tell her he loves her.Gabriel and Nathalie are going through their struggles of being stuck in a sort of limbo, which ends in a realization and a new beginning.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Pick Up the Pieces, Try Again

The rain drumming on the roof of the bakery was so peaceful.

Adrien lay on the chaise lounge that had become his bed for the past three days, listening to its soothing drone and staring up at the ceiling while he thought. The soft warm light of a lamp drove out the grey of outside, and a fluffy blanket was mussed up around his feet.

The past few days had been some of the happiest he’d had in a long time. It had been like a vacation from his problems, both old and new, and the best bit was now he had his Lady by his side.

Marinette had introduced to him the concept of how to spend a sleepover: something he only ever saw in movies, having never gotten to participate in one. He had to admit he quite liked it. They watched movies every evening after Tom and Sabine had gone to sleep, and last night Marinette laughed so hard she spilled the popcorn. They told scary stories with torches held ominously under their chins, or cast the beam of light over their hands so shadow puppet creatures danced across the walls. Playing classic games like _Twenty Questions,_ _Would You Rather?,_ and _Never Have I Ever_ taught him things about her he had never known before. It took exorbitantly long to finish the last one, as it was not made for just two people, but he was (predictably) the one to keep all his fingers up. He tried to braid her hair and she his, but he made a mess and she left him little tiny pigtail braids all over his head, which promptly unraveled due to the softness of his locks. His favorite thing, however, was tucking up together on the balcony in pajamas and blankets—even though it was practically summer—to watch the stars and listen to the nocturnal sounds of the city. As if they were still two superheroes out on nightly patrol.

He did, however, have the feeling that it was all in an effort by Marinette to distract him from the very real problem that his father was Hawk Moth and his mother was _alive_ , but either way he appreciated it. It helped.

One thing he hadn’t minded a single bit was that the two of them had gotten so much closer. He tucked his hands behind his head and a smile worked his way across his lips as he realized he was smitten-kitten. He saw Ladybug in the workings of her mind, the way she was always ready to help and solve a problem, in her body’s every movement. Yes, even the clumsy ones. Her laugh, her eyes, the bounce in her ponytails when she got excited; they all made his heart float like a little boat bobbing on a river of giddy love.

There was just one _slight_ problem. Neither of them had technically asked the other out. Sure, they had kissed on the park bench, but that was a spur-of-the-moment thing. They had just found out the other’s secret identity; emotions had been running high; that had to be why, right? Because she hadn’t brought up the nature of their relationship since. Sure, she sat close to him, and hugged him and brushed her fingers against his hand, but she hadn’t actually _said_ anything about it in the whole three days. Was it because she was shy, or because she just thought of him as a friend and nothing more? After all, he hadn’t succeeded in all those months of patrols with Ladybug…

Or maybe she was waiting for him to make the first move? He didn’t know, he had no experience in this sort of thing! How does a guy ask out the girl he likes? He had seen stuff online with posters and candy bars and donuts that spell out “will u b my gf?”, but that seemed complicated. Would she like something like that? Somehow it hadn’t come up during their game of _Twenty Questions_.

He rolled over onto his side and groaned. There were so many ways; which was the best one? He couldn’t bear it if he screwed up and lost one of his best friends.

His phone buzzed with a text. Momentarily distracted, he opened it. It was from Nathalie.

 _How are you? School tomorrow, do you want me to drop off your bag?_ He messaged her back a quick _Sure, thanks,_ just as Marinette’s voice piped up from below the hatch in the bedroom floor.

“Adrien? You up there? Mom wants to know what you want for lunch.”

“Yeah, coming!” Adrien kicked the blanket off his legs and went to descend the stairs.

He had to ask her.

* * *

For Gabriel, the rain wasn’t helping.

Things hadn’t been the same since he had come back from Fu’s apartment. He felt confused, directionless, powerless, a boat with torn sails and a broken rudder. The events of recent had tarnished the shining idea that bringing back his wife would be the answer to all his problems.

Because there were just. So many.

He was certain Adrien hated him. His son still hadn’t come home after he had fled from the Master’s apartment, with Marinette in hot pursuit. Nathalie was a physical wreck, but she would get better. She had to, because he couldn’t deny he needed her. And Emilie…he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do about Emilie. It troubled him.

He couldn’t remember when exactly the last time he had shaved. Or taken a real shower, for that matter, one that wasn’t just letting the water run over his body in an attempt to feel something, anything at all. It was like he was existing in a fog, where time didn’t exist and not much mattered.

His consciousness had only stirred when he heard Nathalie throwing up in the bathroom. Something inside his chest kept pinging, _she needs you, she needs you. You’re the only one around to help her._ He had roused himself and helped her up and away and back to the bedroom methodically, like a robot, his hand on her shoulder coursing with the warmth of her. She felt so… _there_ , and he did not. He muddled through using the grocery delivery app for something she could eat, clumsily threw some disinfectant at the bathroom, brought up her tablet so she could work, which made him feel terrible that _she_ was still doing work and _he_ couldn’t manage to get anything done.

He wasn’t inspired. That was another one of the problems on his laundry list. Design ideas curled up and died as soon as he put pen nib to paper, and he didn’t have the energy to force them out. He would sit there, or stand at his drawing tablet, struggling to keep the awful thoughts from creeping in through the cracks in his mind: “ _You’re useless. What kind of designer can’t design? Everything you’ve ever created is shit.”_ Often, they would morph into variations on “ _Nathalie will never return your feelings,”_ or “ _What would Emilie think of you now?”_ or _“You’ve ruined Adrien’s life forever.”_

There was no end to the parade. _Failure. Cheat. Worthless. Powerless._

_Traitor!_

_Liar!_

Even after they began to fade, he would sit at the desk in his bedroom in a stupor, unwilling to undergo the whole thing again.

He knew Nathalie had noticed. Because she said so, when she had confronted him about it the very next day.

“Nathalie, you don’t understand. There’s no point,” he groused. “Everything I’ve been working towards has been destroyed.”

She frowned, standing over him. “You need to at least TRY. Try to start again, with something new. Your brand is depending on you. I’m depending on you. _Adrien_ is depending on you.” She hesitated, then reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder with comforting intent.

He covered his ears and scrunched up his face. “Fine. _Fine._ I’ll try and figure out how to break the block. Now please leave me alone.” She nodded tightly and left the room. His shoulder tingled with warmth from the ghost of her hand. Nathalie didn’t usually initiate physical affection. Despite his current irritation at himself and the world, he found he liked it.

* * *

“Wait, what do you mean you don’t _technically_ know what a ladle is?”

“Umm…it’s the one for soup, right…?” Adrien pouted as Marinette stifled a giggle. “I know what a spatula is. I think. From memes. Marinette, I haven’t spent much time in a kitchen,” Adrien protested, mildly embarrassed as her giggle grew.

Sabine placed a sandwich and a plate of crisps in front of each of them from where they were sitting at the table. Marinette quickly took a bite to hide her smile.

“Well, if you’d like to learn, I’m sure Tom and I and Marinette could teach you some things,” Sabine said kindly. “Lord knows, a bakery is the best place to learn!” Adrien smiled at her in thanks.

Marinette swallowed her food. “Well then, I hereby promote myself to your cooking teacher! Our first lesson begins today. We’re making cookies as soon as we finish lunch!”

“What’s this about cookies?” Tom’s large form entered the living area from the hallway.

“Papa! I’m gonna each Adrien how to cook today. He doesn’t know what a ladle is,” Marinette said by way of explanation.

Adrien piped up, feeling mildly defensive. “I can use the microwave. I’ve reheated a lot of cold dinners in my evenings.” The looks of restrained horror from the two parents made him decide it might not have been the best thing to admit. Marinette took advantage of the beat of silence to grab her sandwich in one hand and Adrien’s wrist in the other.

“Come on, lets go downstairs to the bakery and get started. There’s no time to lose! You’re gonna be a great baker!”

Adrien shoved the last crusts of his bread in his mouth as she pulled him down the stairs. He did not feel like a great baker.

But the kitchen was warm and cheerful and nice smelling, in contrast to the dampness outside, and he was more than happy to be spending time with his Lady.

Marinette stood on the counter to retrieve a worn cookbook from a high shelf. She explained it contained all her dad’s famous bakery recipes, but he had them memorized by now.

“Chocolate chip cookies, today. Could you grab a bag of flour?”

“From where?”

“Over there, behind the—whoops!” She fumbled the cookbook and Adrien dove and caught it. He stood and gallantly gave her a hand to help her hop down. “Thanks! You’re the best,” she said, smiling up at him. They were standing very close together, and Adrien was suddenly reminded that he still wanted to ask her something important.

She smelled pleasantly of fresh bread and something sweet, like raspberries. Or maybe that was the bakery. It didn’t matter. He ran his hand through his hair and blushed lightly. “Marinette—”

“How’s it going down there?” Tom poked his head in, and they leapt apart. Sabine appeared under his arm.

“We’re fine!” Marinette squeaked. “I’ve got everything under control, so if you could just…” She gestured for them to close the door with a jerk of her head. They smiled and obliged. She took a deep breath. “.. _As_ I was saying…ingredients.”

She marched over to the fridge and opened it, rummaging. Adrien followed. Spotting a container of mixed fruit, perhaps for decorating, he pointed to it.

“Hey Marinette. I’m _berry_ lucky to have you as my teacher,” he punned. She covered her mouth with one hand to hide her smile as she retrieved a container of butter and two eggs.

“Adrien, your Chat is showing…” she replied lightly to his cheeky grin, handing him a bowl and plopping two eggs into his other hand. “If you could crack those while I melt the butter, that would be great,” she said, and turned away to her own task.

Adrien pondered the eggs with a measure of unease. He had never done this before. His main experience with them had been in the class egg-drop contest months prior, where he had witnessed many of them survive multi-meter falls within their protective devices. He glanced at Marinette, who was cutting up butter. It couldn’t be that hard, right? You just hit it, and it breaks. He took one in his hand just as she turned back to him and _slammed_ it against the counter.

Raw egg splashed two meters in every direction. Marinette blinked at the sudden spray and touched a finger slowly to her slimed cheek as Adrien stood stock still in horror.

“Oh my god, I’m _so sorr—"_

“ _Sacre bleu,”_ she whispered. “Huh. You really have _no idea_ how softly you’re supposed to crack an egg.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she grabbed a towel and wiped her face. She didn't seem that upset, but Adrien decided this was _not_ the best moment to ask her out with an egg-related pun.

“I’ll. I’ll just, get another one,” he said, and started towards the fridge.

“Wait!” She laughed at him. “Come here. You have egg on your nose.” She gently swiped it off with the towel and he blinked involuntarily. Variations on the theme of “that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be” teetered at the edge of his tongue, but he bit them back.

He managed to crack both eggs correctly this time. Marinette taught him how to fish out the little white pieces of shell, because as she said, you don’t want crunch in your cookies. They added the butter and sugar and vanilla and beat the whole mixture with the electric mixer. Adrien was somewhat fascinated with the hypnotic way the machine whirled the dough in waves around in the bowl.

Marinette chattered away, but all he could think of was just how _close_ she was standing to him.

 _Get it together, Agreste. You’ve gotta ask her the thing._ He eyed the stack of measuring cups. Should he tell her he loved her…beyond _measure_? Or that he _kneaded_ her in his life? What was a good pun? Or should he use a pun at all? The donut idea of earlier was remaining a promising one. If only he could get some from the store without her noticing. But then he’d have to decorate them…

“Adrien? Earth to Adrien!” Marinette was smiling at him. Oh god, how he loved that smile. She handed him a measuring cup full of flour. “We need to put in four of these. Here, dump it in, SLOWL—”

She was cut off by his flipping the cup over so the flour poured in and sent up a rolling puff of powder. Both of them coughed, now dusted in white like a Christmas scene. She waved away his apologies and the flour cloud with a giggle.

“Don’t worry! That’s what learning is for.” Adrien grinned apologetically and mentally kicked himself. He definitely was _not_ a good baker.

A whirl through the mixer—Marinette showed him how to do it so they wouldn’t get dusted again—and it was time to add the chocolate chips. She snuck some to eat and handed him a few as well as she took the bowl off the machine.

“Now we just put them on a pan and bake them. I already preheated the oven.” Adrien nodded.

_The oven may be warm, but you’re hot…? Nope, that one’s just dumb._

He tried to copy her movements as she double-wielded spoons to scrape the cookie dough onto the pan in little balls. It was harder than it looked. Just for fun, he made one of them into a misshapen little heart. The corner of her mouth twitched up when she saw it, and she took the full pan over to the oven. Adrien, of course, followed. The blast of heat when she opened the door made him squint. She straightened up and dusted off her hands.

“Okay, they’ll be done in about ten minutes. We should…probably clean up the kitchen.” Adrien looked around. Flour coated the counters and raw egg was splattered on most of the surfaces.

“You’re probably right.” She tossed him a rag, and he missed it, unprepared. Both of them bent to get it, and their heads clocked together.

“Ouch,” they said in unison, rubbing their skulls. She cocked her head.

“Hey, what is with you? You’ve been acting weird all day!” She handed him the rag and their fingers touched. Adrien gulped. Their faces were still very close.

He had to tell her. Just straight out. It was now or never. What did his father say sometimes? Something about simplicity often being the best design? It’s not like he paid much attention. Marinette, being a designer, would probably appreciate it better. But what did his father know about talking to girls?

Adrien took a deep breath. “Marinette, w-will you be my girlfriend?”

A strangled _eep_ escaped her mouth, and she covered it with her hands as her face flushed red.

“I, um, ah…”

His nervousness grew at her lack of coherent verbal response. He put his palms up in an apologetic gesture.

“I mean, you can say no, I just, wanted to officially ask, you know. In case thatwaswhatyouwanted—” She managed to recover.

“Of _course,_ you silly kitty. Of _course_ I will.” Her eyes shone. Adrien’s heart exploded in joy and he threw his arms around her, laughing, and she hugged him tightly back. Even as covered in baking ingredients as they were, it was still the best hug he had ever gotten.

She grinned and looked askance when they broke apart. “I kind of thought we already were…you know. Because of what happened at the park. But I guess…yeah.” She bounced on the balls of her feet. Something popped into Adrien’s head.

“I _loaf_ you,” he said into her ear. She pushed him away.

“ _Donut_ even go there,” she said, but she was grinning, and he was grinning, because his Lady had made a _baking pun_. She was _truly_ the only one for him. She smirked. “Mind if I take a _whisk?”_

He was taken aback. “A…what?”

“A whisk. Like, a risk. But a kitchen utensil….Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said, and leaned in.

Their lips touched just as the bakery door jangled open.

Marinette made a strangled noise of surprise when she jerked her head back and slipped on a slippery patch of egg-and-flour and fell on her bum. Adrien’s eyes snapped open and he looked up, ears and face burning, to see their visitor was none other than his father’s assistant.

Sabine and Tom entered from the other room. “We heard someone come in, who is—what happened to the kitchen?? Oh, hello. Miss…Sancoeur, was it?” Tom asked, his face going through several emotions in a matter of seconds.

“Yes, thank you. I’m here to drop off Adrien’s school things,” Nathalie replied in her typical professional tone and gestured to his bag in her other hand.

Adrien suddenly remembered the text he had sent earlier letting her know it was okay to drop it off. “Oh, er, thank you, Nathalie.” He supposed his face was still red. Marinette popped up from the floor, unhurt.

“Would you like a cookie? They’re just about to come out of the oven.” As if on cue, the timer beeped, and she moved to attend to it.

It took everything in Nathalie’s power not to visibly react, and she wrinkled her nose at the deliciously overpowering scent. It was tempting, but she knew her stomach wouldn’t have it.

“No, thank you,” she replied. _I’d probably just throw it up. Shame, though._ Her nose tickled and she suddenly sneezed into her elbow. Ugh. She suddenly wasn't feeling so good. Perhaps it was dust? Loose flour? There was certainly a lot on the counter, she noticed as she looked around. 

Sabine looked concerned. “Honey, you really don’t look well…” she went to move towards the younger woman, but Nathalie sniffed and held up a hand.

“It’s nothing. Can I have a moment to talk to Adrien?”

“Why, of course! We’ll be right out here.” She gestured towards the stairs, guiding her daughter and husband out of the kitchen, who were busily moving cookies to a cooling rack and _definitely not_ listening. Adrien, who had been watching the whole thing proceed, gave Nathalie a quick smile. He couldn’t shake his feeling of concern. She really didn’t look much better than when he had last seen her, waking up in Fu’s apartment from a magically induced coma. Her eyes were tired, more so now that the Dupain-Chengs had vacated. And who would refuse fresh cookies? You’d have to be sick to do that.

She held his bag out to him. “I should have gotten everything you need. I shoved your history textbook in there for good measure in case you have homework.” He took it.

“Nathalie, are you okay?” She averted her eyes and sighed, resistant to telling the truth but not wanting to lie. “I’ve been better.” She quickly changed the subject, her eyes turning urgent. “Listen, when are you thinking of coming home?”

 _Never,_ Adrien thought to himself, but he looked into her sad eyes and knew he couldn’t do that to her. He took a breath. “Tomorrow,” he said, surprising even himself.

She nodded, almost looking relieved. “That’s good. It’s not the same without you home. I’ve missed you. Should I come here to get you after school tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said, feeling warm inside at the words _I’ve missed you._ He wanted to hug her, but he didn’t want to get flour on her nice work blazer.

She nodded smartly and turned towards the bakery exit. The door jangled as she snapped open a black umbrella and stepped back out into the rain, carefully avoiding puddles on the short trip to where the Agreste car was idling around the corner. Adrien watched her for a minute, before he turned around to three expectant sets of eyes.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” he breathed, and they all three exclaimed with various emotions: happy for him, sad to see him go, he could come back anytime, whenever he needed. He smiled as they embraced him, making him the center of a little huddle. Tom, Sabine, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He melted into their arms, into the feeling of the bakery, of being warm and safe and loved.

* * *

Nathalie opened the door to Gabriel’s bedroom without ceremony. “I’m setting you up with a therapist,” she said, businesslike, tapping away on her tablet. The overhead fixtures were off, the dimmest rays of sun filtering through the rainclouds not offering much by way of illumination. The only significant light source was from the lamp on the desk where Gabriel sat, head in hands. Floodlit on an open sketchbook page was a single pen stroke that started clean and true and then trailed off, a perfect visual representation of his frustration. He didn’t respond. She clicked her screen off and stowed the tablet under her arm.

“I was just over at the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery, dropping off Adrien’s school things. Apparently, he and Marinette are an item.” Gabriel’s eyes stayed unfocused and one of his brows raised a single centimeter.

“Are they, now.”

“Yes.”

“I thought Marinette was just a friend.”

“So he said. Apparently, that has changed.” The image of the two teens covered in flour and egg and kissing in the back of what they assumed to be an empty kitchen came to her mind. “One more thing, though. Adrien is coming home tomorrow.”

That got his attention. His head snapped up.

He looked at her face, really, for the first time in a while. Her skin looked extra pale and drawn in the grey and her eyes were strained with the expression of someone desperately trying to keep their head above water. He was suddenly struck with the realization that it was happening again; he wasn’t paying enough attention, wasn’t doing enough; he’s letting her sacrifice herself for him. She had been fighting so hard to keep his ship afloat, and he’d been nothing but dead weight. Even when she’s sobbing on his bathroom floor, she’s fighting. He pales in comparison to her, and while his mind yelled he’ll never, ever be worthy of her, a tiny part of him thought: she’s the reason to get better. Her and Adrien. In the very least, he couldn’t leave the weight of the world on her already fragile shoulders.

Something stirred in his chest for the first time in days. He found himself half-reaching out a hand, as if a repayment for earlier. “Nathalie, I….” His voice was hoarse.

 _I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I’ve been._ Their eyes locked for one brief moment and the flicker that went through hers seemed to understand what he couldn’t say, before she turned and shut the door. He didn’t know how she could do that, or when wordless communications had become something they’d started sharing. He got up.

Gabriel took a shower, shaved away his five days’ scruff, put on his classic red and white suit. The next day, he stood with his back straight and hands clasped behind him to welcome his son home, the only indication of nervousness being how this thumb kept running over his palm. He didn’t change expression as Nathalie and Adrien came through the front door, the boy holding a package of cookies and chattering away to her about how Marinette taught him to crack an egg, Marinette can decorate pastries twice as fast as me and twice as pretty, how Marinette is the best girl _ever,_ Marinette, Marinette.

He didn’t crack when Adrien stopped in his tracks, face hardening as he looked at his father standing in the middle of the foyer and went around him without another word to ascend the staircase to his bedroom. He swallowed down the lump in his throat as Nathalie looked his way with the saddest of expressions. He fought the urge to take the easy way out, to fall back into apathy, because Nathalie was right: his son, no matter how angry he must be, is relying on his father to provide for him. Putting his life back was like picking up pieces of a smashed glass bottle and fitting them together with stinging and bleeding hands, an arbitrary puzzle that hurt with every new piece one touched. But he had to do better, for both of them. For all of them.

It was time to step up and try to be a parent.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so GabeNath is my main dish, but I like a bit of Adrienette on the side, right? Because worldbuilding, and also they remind me so much of the early part of my own relationship. Two very awkward fifteen-year-olds, in puppy love, trying to muster up the courage to communicate how much they care for one another. Aww. 
> 
> There’s about a five day stretch over which the events of the two fics happen. Also peep Sabine mothering everyone in existence, and some slightly dark GabeNath for you. Have a nice day!! 
> 
> Side note: I took inspo from that one tumblr post I love so much...you'll know it when ya read it. ;) https://www.reddit.com/r/thatHappened/comments/68plb7/what_the_fuck_dion/)


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